


Play Fighting

by sparxwrites



Series: Lifelines [1]
Category: The Yogscast
Genre: Demigods, Fights, Sexual Tension, Thunder and Lightning, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-04
Updated: 2014-09-04
Packaged: 2018-02-16 02:11:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2251950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sparxwrites/pseuds/sparxwrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“And here we are, yet again,” sighs Kirindave, eyes a shimmering blue-grey from under the darkness of his hood. It’s creepy, inhuman; fitting, considering he isn’t one. “You just don’t know when to quit, do you?”</p><p>(In which Ridgedog is irritatingly persistent, like a cockroach - and, also like a cockroach, Kirindave would rather not have him anywhere near his property. The aftermath of a 'playfight' between two demigods.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Play Fighting

**Author's Note:**

> casually christens this ship kirindog and ollies out. i'm afraid if you thought i was gonna make this ship in any way fluffy, then you were sorely mistaken.

“And here we are, yet again,” sighs Kirindave, eyes a shimmering blue-grey from under the darkness of his hood. They don’t glow – not like Xephos’ do, clear blue torches in anything lower than late afternoon sun – but there’s an edge of iridescence to them, a strange half-light like the glow of a cat’s eyes when they catch the fire.

It’s creepy, inhuman; fitting, considering he isn’t one.

“You just don’t know when to quit, do you?” There’s an edge of something like amusement to his voice, not at the situation but at Ridgedog’s sheer tenacity and determination. The black, cloud-bloated sky lights up briefly with a roaring flash, thunder rolling in concussive waves as a nearby tree bursts into quickly-extinguished flames.

Ridgedog laughs, runs a tongue over the swollen split in his lip and looks up at Kirindave from where he’s been forced to his knees in the mud. The rain’s slicked his hair down into a wet mess against his scalp, too focused on the now-lost battle to keep himself dry and pristine, and it’s sending trickles of bloodied water into his eyes that he keeps having to blink out. Very irritating.

“Oh, come _on_!” he says, amusement in every syllable – possibly not quite sane-sounding, but still there. “You enjoy our little playfights as much as I do. Don’t try to deny it. We have so much _fun_ together!”

The ground around them is scorched bare in a twenty meter radius, and the plants beyond that still standing look distinctly unwell. _Playfight_ seems a callous term to use, given the scale of the destruction.

Kirindave twitches his fingers, and Ridgedog falls silent as the circlets of miniature lightning around his throat and wrists contract ever so slightly, the electric tingle of them scorching his skin with the proximity.

He’s not silent for long, though – but stopping Ridgedog’s mouth even for a second is quite the achievement. “Admit it,” he says, smiling his most winning, gap-toothed smile. “You’d miss these little sparring bouts if I stopped, wouldn’t you? You’d be bored.”

Kirindave half-smiles, the corner of his mouth twitching, and doesn’t answer. Ridgedog counts that as a victory.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were flirting with me,” Kirindave says, eventually, faint amusement still written across his face. “Little boy, pulling at my pigtails to try and get my attention.”

It takes a lot for Ridge to not point out that _he’s_ the older of the two, thank you very much; that for all Kirindave’s grand delusions of higher godhood, he’s very definitely the child in this equation.

Instead, he hums, mock-thoughtful. “Pigtails, huh?” he says, and for all he just about manages to keep his voice serious, he can’t keep anything approaching a straight face. “That could definitely be a good look for you – you’ve got the sideburns for it. Cute little schoolgirl outfit, pleated skirt and some bows…”

His words dissolve into helpless giggles at the scowl that slowly creeps across Kirindave’s face.

The next moment he’s wheezing pain, drooling blood onto the floor with a shock pattern of white burn scars crawling across his cheek. The bridge of his nose is split open wide and bloody, sending a steady thump of pain through his skull. For a second, all he can do is process what’s happened, catalogue the new complaints, _breathe_.

“You deserved that,” says Kirindave mildly – watches as Ridge catches his breath, gingerly moves his jaw to check it hasn’t broken beneath the force of the blow, winces at the bitter copper taste coating his tongue.

“That was mean,” mumbles Ridge thickly, pouting with a split lip, and Kirindave sighs.

“What am I going to do with you?” he says, tapping his index finger against his lips and hardly seeming to notice the lighting that crackles eagerly at the contact. He sounds almost bored. “I could take your heart. That’s what you do, isn’t it? With your little games, your little sacrifices. You let them die in your name, and then you eat their hearts. How… tasteless.”

Ridgedog giggles, bares bloodstained teeth in a wild, amused snarl. “Says the man that plays with witchcraft and taglocks and curses,” he points out, spits crimson saliva onto the floor at Kirindave’s feet. “Hypocrisy at its finest.”

The rain still pouring from the sky is slowly soaking through his coat, turning his shirt into a sodden, clinging mess, and he resists the urge to shiver. He shouldn’t feel the cold, not really, but he’s in Kirindave’s domain now – on his turf, so to speak. His powers are… not quite weakened, but dampened here.

Hence why he’s the one on his knees, bloodied and beaten, instead of the other way round.

The silence hangs heavy over them, broken only by the patter of rain hitting the ground and the occasional rumble of nearby thunder. Absently, Ridgedog wonders if Kirindave plans to bore him to death; or perhaps just leave him here forever, the least inventive and most torturous of punishments imaginable.

“ _So_ ,” he says, eventually, dragging the syllable out into a long whine of vowel noises, trying to fill the gap in the conversation – mostly trying to annoy Kirindave, actually, if he’s being honest with himself. If he can’t get free, he can at least get a _reaction_. “I can’t help but notice that a lot of our fights end with me on my knees. Have you got a kink, or something? Because I mean that’s cool, no shame from me, but I’m pretty sure there’re supposed to be safewords-”

Kirindave wrenches his head back, one hand tangled in the sopping mess of Ridgedog’s hair, and Ridge’s breath catches in his throat as the lightning comes into contact with his skin and _bites_.

He can feel it clawing across tender flesh, digging hooks in and scorching a blackened band of skin around his throat. It takes away his breath, sends a scream of _not right very wrong_ through his body that he can’t manage to ignore. “Ow, ow, ow, too rough!” he whines, tries to reach up to scratch at Kirindave’s wrist and then remembers the lightning around his wrists pinning him still. “Too rough, I am _not_ enjoying this any more!”

“You will stay away from me,” says Kirindave, ignoring his whining – and he doesn’t raise his voice but the thunder in the background starts a menacing, rolling growl. “You will stay away from my house, from my lands, from my friends. You will stay away from the little blood mage and his teacher, and from anyone else I tell you to in future. Do you understand?”

Ridgedog makes a noise of shock past the pain, blinks at Kirindave with watering eyes. “ _Parvis_?” he asks, manages a laugh that ends in a slightly choked sound. “ _That’s_ \- what this- this is about?!” He exhales shakily, tries to ground himself enough to finish his sentences. “You want me to stay away from him? I kind of think he’s more of a danger _without_ a guiding hand, really, but if you insist.”

“He will have a guiding hand. From me, not you – and to be honest I feel like I’m at least _mildly_ more responsible than you are.” Ridgedog can’t really deny that, just grins wider and licks at the blood between his teeth.

“A _lot_ more responsible than you are,” corrects Kirindave, sighing. “But no. Parvis is not what this is about. This is about _you_ coming onto _my_ territory and trying to ruin the calm and the order I have fought to create. I’ve built a home here, and all you seem to want to do is _trash_ it.” He sounds more mildly offended than anything, almost disappointed

“Ooo,” manages Ridgedog, sneering. “ _The calm and order I have fought to-_ ” The words cut off with something edging on a shriek as the lighting tightens further, sinks _under_ his skin and sends white fire through his nerves. He collapses back into the hold Kirindave has on his hair, spine arching in an unnatural curve before he’s released and left to fall back into the mud, twitching in sharp, convulsive movements.

The lightning re-emerges, an angry buzz of electricity around his throat and wrists, and he gasps air until the stars fade from his vision despite the fact he doesn’t need to breathe. “I understand!” he manages, words jagged-edged and snarling with fury and something like panic. “I understand, I _get_ it, calm _down_!”

“Good.” Kirindave leans down to pat his cheek, once, before straightening and rubbing the mud off his fingers with an annoyed noise. “Urgh, you’re filthy.”

For once, Ridge doesn’t have a smart comment or an innuendo ready, can’t seem to force his brain to think one up.

Kirindave hums thoughtfully, wipes the last of the mud off with the aid of the rain, and shakes the sleeves of his robes out. They’re pristine, untouched by the water, and Ridge feels a sudden wave of loathing for how dry Kirindave is when he himself is soaked to the bone. Kirindave doesn’t seem to notice the glare, though, inspecting the mess he’s made of his fellow demigod instead and finally, _finally_ , allowing a proper smile to curl his lips.

“I hope I’ve made my point here,” he says, raising an eyebrow when Ridge doesn’t respond. “I will tolerate you on my territory because I have to, and because at this point removing you from it would be more effort than it’s worth. But if you come looking for a fight again, I won’t be so kind.”

Personally, Ridgedog doesn’t think he was all that kind this time around. He stares with mute hatred as Kirindave flips the hood of his robes back up to cover his hair and cast his face into darkness. “Goodbye, Ridgedog,” he says. “Until next time your self-control runs out.”

Thunder rumbles heavy across the swollen sky, lightning cracking down close and bright enough that Ridgedog has to close his eyes against the clean, razor-white light of it. When he opens them again, Kirindave is gone. The rain still pouring from above puts the electricity around his throat and wrists out with every sizzling droplet.

“Son of a _bitch_.”

Ridgedog drags a hand across his face, wiping the worst of the blood and the rain from it and reaching out with his power. He hisses furious irritation when the dampness is cured with a thought, blissful dryness shrouding him once again, but the injuries refuse to heal over. He tries again, again, and they stay stubborn and throbbing.

For all that Kirindave refuses to openly gloat, refuses to really show _anything_ past that calm-and-mysterious mask he likes to wear, Ridge can imagine the mage is laughing to himself wherever he is now.

Another shove with his power, and the marks _still_ refuse to fade. The fight must have drained him more than anticipated, the off-white light of his being fractured in places and sheared off in blunt slices in others. He feels… off balance, incomplete, and it’s not a feeling he enjoys.

Snarling frustration, he takes a handful of it and _pulls_ , uses its power to warp the world around him through the void and then back again, moving him instantly from one plane to another. Perhaps, he thinks – trying to regain a modicum of calm now he’s away from the scene of the fight – it’s not all bad news. Perhaps some good can come of this.

It’s been a while since he last paid Xephos a visit, after all.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [From Grace](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2261490) by [underyogs (meigender)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/meigender/pseuds/underyogs)




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